


of all the things my eyes have seen

by elsaclack



Series: since the dawn of time [2]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6437329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsaclack/pseuds/elsaclack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes healing only comes one piece at a time. Sometimes it's so slow, it's painful. And sometimes it only happens when the people we love push us toward it. A stand-alone one shot that spins off from the events of Heliocentrism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of all the things my eyes have seen

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a companion piece to Heliocentrism - set in the same universe, but four months after Heliocentrism ends. If you haven't read that, don't fret! Here's what you need to know:
> 
> 1\. Amy went undercover in a drug smuggling ring for the FBI, similar to what Jake did in canon at the end of season 1. She was gone for 10-11 months, and at the end The Vulture did what he does best and ruined everything and nearly got her killed by sending his officers in too soon. Amy was shot four times and spent a long time recovering in the hospital.  
> 2\. Jake went bonkers while she was gone, even more so when she was in the hospital, and confessed his feelings to her the day she came home from the hospital. They've been together ever since.
> 
> That's really all you need. If you're curious, Heliocentrism is posted on ao3 as well. It's two chapters, but they're kind of long because I had a lot to say about these nerds.
> 
> Initially I was going to have this piece read the same way as Heliocentrism, but it really didn't work very well like that. So instead of trying to force it, I tried a different approach and it flowed much better, so, this is a one-shot in which something spurs Amy's memories of being undercover.
> 
> So yes. I don't own anything. Also, definitely stole Melissa Fumero's name for a couple things in here because I am super original and very good at naming things.

She wakes to the sound of explosions, to the feeling of her lungs compressed, to sheer unadulterated panic.

Amy flails and rolls until the soft surface beneath her disappears and she drops down to something much harder. She’s awake, but not completely; her brain still isn’t fully comprehending what’s happening. Another harsh boom that makes the window beside her bed rattle in its frame sends her scrambling to her feet despite the dull ache in her abdomen protesting her harsh movements.

She stumbles through a darkened apartment, snatching her keys from where they hang next to her front door before slamming the door behind her.

She runs down hallways and stairs, through the darkened, comatose lobby.

The front door to the apartment building bursts open and she rushes out, just to be immediately drenched in pouring rain. It doesn’t stop her from running to where her car is parked on the street, from jumping inside and starting the engine, from peeling away from the curb.

She drives until the she doesn’t recognize the streets anymore. At least, not as Amy.

There’s another part of her, a darker, meaner part of her, that knows these streets like the back of her hand. She’d adopted the name Melissa while undercover, and Melissa was a queen in these parts just a few months previously.

Eventually Amy pulls the car over to the side of the road. It’s still raining and distantly she knows she should be cold, but she still gets out of the car and jogs through the downpour toward the docks.

There’s this one pier that Melissa used to use. It’s one of Archie’s favorites, too. One that all the bosses used at one point or another as a drop-off point with their dealers. Amy pads across the rough wood slowly, wincing with each poke and prod to her bare feet.

She sits at the edge of the pier and lets her feet dangle over the water, closing her eyes against the sharp pinpricks of frigid water that splash up to grab her feet. Her heart is still pounding, but she’s beginning to calm down. She’d been meaning to come back here for a while now, ever since Melissa died.

The water below the dock is a dark, angry grey. The storm brewing over her head is reflected in fierceness by the choppy rough waters and Amy wonders what it would feel like to drop down into the waves and dissolve into the chaos. She pictures her body drifting to the bottom, gazing up at the pseudo-sky with blank, empty eyes. Suddenly a different face, a familiar sweet pale face with a scruffy beard and a tiny scar over the left eye appears. It’s not herself she’s imagining sinking, it’s Frankie.

Amy’s eyes pop open and a sob suddenly wrenches itself from her chest. Frankie, sweet Frankie, is dead. And it’s her fault. Frankie’s in a duffle bag somewhere below both her feet and what feels like a million miles of water, and it’s entirely her fault.

Now that the sob has escaped, more follow; before she knows it she’s having a full-on panic attack right there at the edge of the pier. She draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them before slowly rocking herself from side to side, desperately trying to get a hold on her wildly out of control emotions.

She pictures Jake the way she saw him just a few hours earlier when she’d come out of the bathroom ready to go to bed, already serenely sleeping in her bed. He'd had such a rough day at work, and she knew driving home that he probably wasn't going to last long once they got into her apartment. She remembers watching his chest rising and falling slowly and rhythmically, and she does her best to recreate the tempo there at the end of the dock. The rain runs down her scalp and causes thick locks of her hair to stick to her face, but she doesn’t care.

The panic slowly passes and Amy eases her feet back down near the water.

She’s been out of the hospital for just over four months now and even though she finally feels like she’s starting to readjust to life outside of her mission, there are still moments when she’s so blinded by surreal memories of her time undercover that she can’t tell what’s real. This is the first heavy storm that has hit New York since she’s been back, she realizes. Now that her head’s a little clearer she understands that the sound that woke her up wasn’t the explosion of gunfire, but thunder.

She tilts her head up and closes her eyes as the rain taps against her face. She should be cold, but she doesn’t feel it. Not yet, at least.

The rain begins to let up and eventually Amy can hear the sounds of the waves slapping against the wooden posts of the dock over the rushing white noise of rainfall. She breathes in deeply through her nose and the sting of salt water feels like the bay welcoming her back. _It’s been too long,_ it says.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. Her voice is hoarse from sleep and panic but she makes no effort to clear her throat. “I’ve been busy.”

She closes her eyes and focuses on the sound of the waves churning.

“I’m sorry.” Amy says again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them. If I’d known...I would’ve done things differently. I would’ve saved you.”

She isn’t sure if it’s an empty promise or not, but it doesn’t matter. Frankie can’t hear her. He’d loved this pier, used to love coming with her to keep her company while she waited for whatever dealer to come get his supply from her. He’d lean over the edge and close his eyes against the breeze that rolled off the water to ruffle his soft brown hair. She’d watch him discreetly from the corner of her eye, wondering over and over again how someone so innocent got caught up so far in such a nasty drug ring. There were several times she could remember wanting to tell him the truth about who she was. About _what_ she was.

But she didn’t, and now he’s dead and she’s not. And the world keeps spinning.

 _It should’ve been you,_ a voice hisses in the back of her head.

She wonders why she ever thought going undercover would be a good idea. She was just getting comfortable enough around Holt to officially ask him to be her mentor. She was just getting friendly enough with Jake that they weren’t childishly bickering constantly like they used to. Just getting close enough to Rosa to call her ‘Rosa’ rather than ‘Diaz,’ just getting in good enough with Gina to maybe possibly consider her an outside-of-work friend. And Charles...well Charles is Charles and he’s so eager to please that he’s really the one person at the nine-nine she didn’t have to try super hard to get to know. He’s an open book, as he once choked through his sobs after telling her every gruesome detail of his divorce.

And then she’d gone and done something stupid and brave (as Jake described while congratulating her on clothes-lining one of the upper dealers in the Fumero drug ring as he tried to run away), which caught the attention of the FBI. And they’d told her that she was an invaluable resource. That she was smart enough and strong enough to do this, to be their woman on the inside, to infiltrate the Fumero drug ring and rise through the ranks and bring the whole thing crashing down from the very top of the ladder.

 _Use your femininity_ , they’d told her. _That’s offensive,_ she’d fired back. But she did.

Archibald Rancun was her target, and he was a nasty one. The highlights of his rap sheet included such hits as armed robbery, aggravated assault, domestic violence, and public intoxication, littered amongst at least one hundred possession of illegal substances charges. Dozens of photographs of his alleged victims littered his file and Amy memorized each broken nose, each blackened eye, each bruised throat and split lip and chipped tooth until she could identify each individual by view of injury alone. She went in knowing that in the near future, her broken, bloody face would be joining that file.

He was at the very top, and getting in close to him was worth the blood sacrifice. At least, that what she convinced herself of.

She still sees his face turning purple beneath her hands, and it still sends a twist of _something_ through her gut. She might have been one of dozens he’d abused, but she was the only one who fought back and won. Her victory was only five minutes long, before suddenly the gates of hell unleashed The Vulture and his minions and Amy felt her body rip apart.

The rain has stopped completely and every now and then a stray chill runs down her spine, but for the most part she has drifted into a zen-like state. Time moves past her and it’s all meaningless. Everything is meaningless. Frankie’s at the bottom of the ocean and nothing matters anymore. She wonders if it ever mattered to begin with.

Reality rushes back to her when she hears footsteps on the wood behind her. She stiffens, heart in her throat, and wonders if she’d be able to stand dropping into the likely frigid water below to avoid whatever hell is approaching her from behind.

“Mind if I sit?” A familiar voice asks.

Amy peers up cautiously and jerks back a little in shock.

Rosa’s standing above her, pointing at the space on the dock to Amy’s right.

“Uh,” Amy splutters, but Rosa’s already sitting down. She inches forward and drops her feet over the edge to mirror Amy’s posture. “How’d you know I was here?”

Rosa shrugs, her gaze on the horizon. “I heard about this place being heavy on drug trafficking. But there’s a kind of beauty here, too, I guess. I figured you’d been here before, and this place seems right up your alley. It was as good a place as any to look for you.”

Amy feels her heart sink. “You were looking for me?” She asks softly.

“Half the nine-nine is looking for you.” Rosa says dismissively.

“God, I’m sorry. I just panicked and ran out the door.”

Rosa grunts.

“I feel terrible, I didn’t even say anything to Jake -”

“Well he didn’t even realize you were gone until about fifteen minutes ago when he came back from the bathroom and noticed you were gone. He panicked when he found your cell phone still on the charger and he called me and Charles to help him look for you.”

Something about Rosa’s calm demeanor assures Amy that Jake isn’t yet aware that she’s been found. Amy closes her eyes and drops her chin to her chest. Disappointing people left and right. They lapse into a weird kind of silence that Amy only ever experiences around Rosa.

“Did you jump in?” Rosa asks, gesturing to the water before them.

Amy glances down and realizes she’s still soaking wet. “No, it was raining.” She says, gathering her wet hair up and throwing it over one shoulder.

“It stopped raining an hour ago. How long have you been out here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why are you here?”

Amy furrows her brow. “I just needed to get away.”

“Why here? Why now?”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s four o’clock in the morning, Santiago. Seems like an odd time to need a break from reality.”

Amy clenches her jaw. “It doesn’t matter,” she mutters.

“But it does.”

“I really don't want to talk about it.”

“Well, I do.”

Okay, now she’s angry. “Would you just _drop it_?”

“ _No_.” Rosa snaps.  Amy’s completely taken aback. Rosa just glares at her fiercely. “Everyone in this precinct has been treating you like you’re this fragile, breakable little thing, but I _know_ you’re not. It’s great that Peralta has been the nice and supportive boyfriend, telling us what to say and how to act, but he’s doing all that because he’s afraid of you.”

“ _Afraid_ of -”

“He doesn’t want to hurt you. None of us do. Everyone’s been petrified of being the one to break you, but enough is e-fucking- _nough_ , Santiago. It's four AM, I should be asleep, but instead I've spent the last fifteen minutes driving all over Brooklyn looking for you because you won't fucking talk about the shit that's hurting you. I’m done acting like one wrong word is gonna _shatter_ you because I _know_ it isn’t true. You’re strong as _hell_. Not only did you make it through the Fumero drug smuggling ring, but you brought the _whole fucking thing_ down. _You_. You’re the _sole_ survivor. You have to be tough as _shit_ to do that, which is why I know nothing I say will hurt you. So, spill it. Why are you here?”

“I had a nightmare,” the words leave her in a rush. Rosa cocks an eyebrow. “I was having a nightmare, and the thunder woke me up. I thought it was gunfire, and I panicked, so I ran.” Amy says a little more slowly.

“What was the nightmare?”

Amy directs her gaze off to the left, desperately fighting against the tears that are threatening to spill down her face. “There was...a guy.”

“Okay?”

“His name was Frankie. He was young. Twenty-two, maybe twenty-three. He was a mid-level dealer and...and he was like a brother. He took care of me in there. Every time Archie beat me up, Frankie would be there to take care of me.” From the corner of her eye, she can see Rosa staring at her, but she can’t bring herself to meet the detective’s eyes. “The bosses...they killed him. And they made me watch. They shot him twice in the head, put him in a duffle bag with some cement blocks, and then dropped him.”

“Where?” Rosa asks, and Amy detects a softness in the woman’s voice that wasn’t there before.

“Here,” Amy whispers. She points a few feet in front of where they sit and is a little surprised to see her hand tremble. “He’s down there somewhere. And I...I needed to tell him how sorry I am.”

“For what?”

“For not doing anything to stop the guys that killed him.”

“You’re not the one who shot him, so as far as I’m concerned, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“He wanted to get _out_ , Rosa.” Amy snaps, and her voice is ragged and harsh in her ears. “He was trying to get out of the whole ring, he wanted to go back to community college and get a degree so that he could get an honest job. He tried to call in an anonymous tip on us - the auto parts deal you guys were supposed to bust us on - but they’d bugged his phone and it recorded everything. He was with me at the warehouse, he road shotgun back to base and the second we pulled up they dragged him out of the car and shot him in the head. And I just watched.”

The tears she’d fought against so hard are now spilling down her face in earnest, and Amy wipes them away angrily.

“What do you think you could have done that would’ve made that outcome any different?”

“I could’ve told him who I really was!” Amy shouts. She’s nearing hysterics. “I could’ve told him I was a cop and I could’ve _helped_ him -”

“Listen to me.” Rosa interrupts, and her voice is so low and dangerous that Amy has no choice but to obey. “That kid signed his own death warrant when he decided to get involved with drug dealers. He knew the risks going in. He knew what could’ve happened. It’s cool that he was trying to turn his life around, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. And the only thing that would’ve happened if you’d told him you were a rat is you getting dragged out of the van and shot in the head, too. Don’t argue with me on that.

“Look,” Rosa shifts a little closer, until their knees barely touch. “This undercover shit is unbelievably hard. You’re a much braver and stronger person than I am.”

“It should’ve been me,” Amy whispers bitterly.

“But it _wasn’t_.” Rosa says firmly.

This throws her.

“What was the nightmare?” Rosa asks after a few minutes of silence.

Amy screws her eyes shut. “I just...I saw the whole thing again, except...instead of Frankie...it was Jake.”

Rosa hums in understanding.

“I’ve had it a few times since...then,” Amy confesses quietly. “And at first it was just Frankie that I saw. But after a while, it was all of you. Everyone from the nine-nine. And then my brothers and my parents...but tonight was the first time I ever saw Jake.”

“And he scared you more than the rest of us?”

“Yeah.”

“You ever think maybe it’s not just the nightmare that scares you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know the guy you were with in there was an abusive dickbag. We all saw what shape you were in the night we brought him in for that domestic violence charge. By the way, I’m really glad that asshole ate it. Would’ve _loved_ to have been the one to put a bullet in his brain after all the shit he yelled at the precinct.”

“Yeah, well...that’s not how he died.”

Rosa lifts an eyebrow, obviously curious, but presses on. “Well, whatever. What I’m trying to say is, it’s been a long time since you’ve been in a normal, healthy relationship. You ever think maybe you’re freaking out about how quickly you and Peralta have moved into this thing?”

Amy frowns. She’d never really considered it. Every move she’d made with Jake felt natural; she had no reservations toward him. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

“Well, being a detective isn’t exactly great in terms of life expectancy. You think it has something to do with worrying about his well-being?”

“Jake’s smart. He knows how to take care of himself, and I know that about him. I think I’m just...waiting for the day that he realizes that I’m too messed up. Like, he’ll decide I’m just not worth the effort anymore.”

Rosa snorts. “Are you kidding me? Jake _Daddy-Issues_ Peralta?”

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, Amy can’t help but chuckle.

“Look, I can’t really speak for him, but I’ve known him for a really long time and I can tell you with complete honesty that I’ve _never_ seen him as happy as he’s been with you. So I think you’re gonna be waiting for a really long time if you’re waiting for him to lose interest. He really loves you, Santiago.”

An involuntary smile curls Amy’s lips up. “He’s been afraid of me,” she says softly.

“I know.”

“I didn’t realize it until you said it. But now that I’m thinking about it, it’s true. He _never_ asks me about my time undercover.”

“He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, but I know that I should. That I need to.”

“He wants to hear about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“He told me himself. He said he doesn’t want to bring it up and say the wrong thing that will drive you away. He’s just been holding out on you getting up the courage to start talking to him about things.”

“What if I tell him something that makes him hate me?”

“I’d love to hear it, because it would have to be one _hell_ of a story to make Jake Peralta hate you. All I’m saying is, he’s there to support you. Along with the rest of the nine-nine. Each of us in our own way. You’ve got a good support team behind you. Tap in.”

Amy wipes the few tears still dripping down her face away on her sleeve and flashes Rosa a watery smile. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“You’re welcome. I’m gonna hug you, now. Don’t be weird.”

Rosa’s arms come up around Amy’s shoulders and Amy lets her pull her in close. Rosa’s curls are wild and crazy and coarse against the side of Amy’s face and when she gets near, she feels sweet warmth radiating onto her suddenly frigid face.

“Oh my _God_ I’m fucking _freezing_!”

“Your lips are blue. I’m gonna call Jake.” Rosa shifts, one arm still around Amy’s shoulders, the other reaching around to pull her phone out of her back pocket. The screen lights up when Rosa unlocks it and Amy sees seven missed calls and thirty new texts, all from Jake Peralta. “Jesus,” Rosa mutters.

She’s still tapping over to return his call when Jake calls her again.

“Hey. I found Amy.” Amy hears Jake’s voice distantly, muffled against Rosa’s face. “We’re at the docks off Fourteenth Street. Yeah, she’s fine. She’s cold, bring a blanket.” Amy crosses her arms over her stomach and hunches down against the cold. “Yeah. Third pier. Okay, hold on.” She pulls the phone away and hands it to Amy.

“Jake?”

“Oh, thank _God,_ ” his voice is strangled with relief. “Are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t. It’s okay. As long as you’re not hurt, everything’s fine. I’m on my way to you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

“Jake, I love you,” she says quickly. Rosa’s arm tightens around her shoulders.

“I love you, too, Amy. I love you so much. I’ll be right there, it’ll only be a few more minutes. I love you, I love you.”

Amy tucks her face into the crook of Rosa’s neck and Rosa rubs her upper arm in an attempt to both comfort and generate warmth.

He stays on the phone with her until she hears footsteps pounding up the dock. Both she and Rosa turn in time to see Jake rushing toward them, haphazardly dressed in sweatpants, the t-shirt he’d slept in, and one of his hoodies. Amy scrambles to her feet just as Jake nearly crashes into her.

He’s holding her so close that she’s utterly cocooned in his warmth and it’s the sweetest feeling of safety and relief that she has ever experienced. One of his hands is in her wet, tangled hair, and the other is running up and down her back compulsively like he’s trying to gather more and more of her up in his embrace. She feels his lips moving against the side of her head, but the rush of blood in her ears combined with the waves beneath their feet overpower whatever he’s whispering.

“Did you bring a blanket?” She hears Rosa ask.

“In my car,” Jake says distractedly. Rosa’s footsteps slowly fade away, leaving them alone at the dock. “Are you okay?” Jake asks her softly once Rosa’s out of earshot.

“I’m so sor-”

“Don’t, don’t, please don’t. Just tell me that you’re okay. Please.”

She pulls her face away from his chest slowly and reluctantly, and feels her heart skip a beat at the look in his eye. “No,” she whispers, “I’m not okay.”

He looks at her like she’s drowning and he doesn’t know how to swim. “I…” his breath leaves him in a rush, hands drifting up and down her arms.

“I called Charles. He’s on his way here. Amy, he said he’ll drive your car back to your apartment so that you can ride with Jake. Gimme your keys.”

“What about his car?” Amy asks, face heating up at the way her voice quakes with barely-contained emotion. Rosa snatches her keyring from her outstretched hand.

“I’ll drive him back here.”

“Thank you, Rosa.” Jake says. He hasn’t looked away from Amy’s face yet.

Rosa thrusts the afghan from the back of Amy’s couch at him and Jake immediately wraps it around Amy’s shoulders. She’s just readjusting it to ride a little higher on her neck when he suddenly scoops her up in a bridal carry. She stiffens, a protest just about to roll off her tongue, but the determination on Jake’s face combined with just how effortlessly he seems to be carrying her makes the words die. So instead she huddles down a little closer to his chest and lets her head rest against his shoulder.

Rosa opens the passenger's side door of Jake’s car and Jake eases Amy into the seat, taking care to make sure her seatbelt is buckled before closing the door behind him.

“You have to take care of her.” Rosa says, voice muffled through the closed window.

“I’m trying -”

“ _No_. I don’t mean making her dinner or taking her to the doctor. I mean you have to talk to her. You have to ask questions. You have to _communicate_.”

“I’ve talked to you about this already. I don’t want to scare her away. I can’t lose her.”

“She _needs_ to talk about the things she saw and the things she did. She can’t internalize all of that forever, she’ll end up breaking herself. You’re afraid of asking the wrong thing, and she’s afraid of saying the wrong thing. You both need to snap out of it and realize that at the end of the day you love each other. You can’t keep handling her with victim gloves because that’s all she’ll ever be if you don’t stop. You have to treat her like a normal person. Get mad at her when she does stupid shit like this, and then talk to her about why she did it.”

“She’s afraid of saying the wrong thing?”

“Yes, you dumbass.”

“How the hell do you know?”

“She told me. But not on her own. I had to tell her that I was sick of pretending like she was gonna shatter if someone said the wrong thing, I had to _get mad at_   _her_  about the stupid shit she did tonight, and she _talked._  Told me everything about why she did this. She wants to talk about it. So nut up and ask her the damn questions, Peralta.”

Jake crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Rosa. “If I end up losing her because of this, I’m gonna ruin your fucking life. Mark my words, Diaz.”

She arches an eyebrow skeptically. “You won’t lose her. Thousand pushups.”

His glare softens, but only for a moment.

Headlights flash from somewhere behind the car, drawing both Jake and Rosa’s attention to the street. From the rearview mirror Amy watches Charles pull in behind Jake and throw his car in park.

“Hey!” He calls, far too chipper for nearly five in the morning. “You found her!”

“Yeah, she’s in the car. Don’t talk to her.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s nearly five in the fucking morning and you’re too happy. Take her keys and get in her car. We’re all leaving now.”

Rosa tosses Amy’s keys to Charles as Jake crosses the front of the car. He pauses by the driver’s side door and glances over his shoulder at Rosa, who’s crossing the street to her car. “Thousand pushups?” He calls uncertainly.

“ _Ten_ thousand pushups.” She shouts back.

“That’s not a thing. That’s not the thing!” He shouts. Rosa just climbs in her car and slams the door behind her.

Jake slides in and starts the car, carefully avoiding Amy’s gaze. “You want the heat all the way up?” He asks quietly.

“Tell me that you’re mad at me,” she mumbles through the folds of afghan around her mouth.

He visibly freezes, but only for a moment. “I’m not mad at you,” he says carefully.

And it’s the most obvious lie he’s said since claiming Taylor Swift isn’t his favorite artist.

“It’s okay to be mad at me, Jake,” she says as sweet, glorious heat suddenly blasts forth from the vents before her.

“I’m not mad.”

“ _Jake._ You won’t break me. I did something stupid, and you have the right to be mad at me about it. I know you’re scared of me, but you don’t have to be. You can be mad, and I'll be okay. We’ll be okay. You _should_ be mad.”

She watches a muscle in his jaw twitch as he puts the car in drive and pulls away from the curb. “I know you lived through hell,” he says after a moment of comfortable, warm silence. “I know you saw things and...and did things. And I know it’s hurting you and affecting you in ways that I don’t understand.”

Amy gently picks at a small hole in the afghan, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“But I’m mad at you right now,” he finally says in a voice so small she has to strain to hear it over the heater.

 _Finally._ “I know.”

“You _scared_ me, Amy.”

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t in my right mind. I panicked and freaked out over what ended up being nothing and I ran away. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry.”

She reaches out and touches the back of his hand, which he still has resting on the gear shift, and he immediately flips his hand over to intertwine their fingers. Something shifts in her chest and it’s like a missing piece is suddenly back in its’ place.

“Your fingers are freezing,” he mutters. She laughs once, because he's always complaining about how cold her hands are when she pushes them up under his shirt and presses them to his stomach or back while they lay on her couch watching movies, and lets her head tilt back against the headrest. She watches him drive through half-lidded eyes. He glances over at her and squeezes her hand gently. “Getting any warmer?”

“Starting to,” she says softly. “M’also getting sleepy.”

“Go to sleep. We’ll be home soon.”

“Wake me up when we get there.”

She closes her eyes and watches the kaleidoscope of street lights flash against the darkness surrounding her. Jake strokes her thumb with his between shifting gears, and every time the car stops at a stop sign or red light, she feels his eyes studying her face.

“Ames,” he whispers once the car stops. Her eyes flutter open and land on the familiar architecture of her street. “We’re home.”

He drops her hand reluctantly and hurries around to her side of the car, where he ignores her sleepy half-hearted protests and lifts her up in another bridal carry. Charles and Rosa are standing in the middle of the road when Jake turns and kicks the door closed behind him. “Thank you, guys,” Jake says solemnly.

“No problem.” Rosa says.

“Anything for you guys. Let me know if you want me to make that romantic dinner for the two of you sometime, Jakey!”

“Shut _up_ , Charles.”

Rosa follows Jake up to the front door and holds the door open for them, nodding in response to Jake’s thanks, and then they’re inside and Amy’s so unbelievably warm and comfortable it’s kind of insane. She’s always hated being carried, ever since she was a little girl and all her older brothers wanted to show off just how much stronger than her they were by hoisting her up off her feet despite her kicking and screaming.

But Jake isn’t showing off. He holds her close and presses kisses to her forehead while he waits for the elevator and Amy’s never experienced anything so intimate before. He holds her like she’s his whole world, and if she wasn’t so spent and exhausted, she might cry.

He carries her up to her apartment, only fumbling a little when trying to open the front door, and eases her down gently on the couch. He pulls the afghan a little more snuggly around her before disappearing into the kitchen.

Amy listens to running water and the general noise of kitchen utensils being shuffled around, before the water hits a metal bowl and slowly rises. It only takes about a minute before the water shuts off and she can hear Jake’s carefully measured footsteps approaching the couch.

“I’m putting this bowl down here,” he says once he’s right next to her. She opens her eyes blearily and sees him lowering a large bowl half-full of warm water to the floor in front of her. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

She hums and closes her eyes as he retreats to the bathroom. He bangs around in there a little before finding what he needs, and when he returns he’s carrying bandages, gauze, disinfectant ointment, two towels, a few washcloths, and rubbing alcohol.

He pushes the coffee table until it’s up under the television, unfolds one of the towels and places it under the bowl, and arranges all the rest of the supplies to sit neatly beside the bowl before dropping to his knees beside the couch. “Ames, can you sit up?”

“Why?” She whispers.

“Your feet are bleeding.”

She furrows her brow. At that precise moment, a low throb radiates from her feet up through her shins. She groans and lets him slide an arm beneath her shoulders to lift her into a seated position.

He lifts her foot up with the softest, most delicate touch in human history and eases it into the bowl. The water is warm, but it stings the open wounds on her feet fiercely, which wakes Amy up immediately. “Holy shit,” she gasps through gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, gently running a washcloth over her foot under the water to knock the larger chunks of debris away from her skin. “The next part’s gonna suck, too.”

He readjusts into a kneeling position and unfolds the second towel across one of his thighs before propping her foot up. She closes her eyes and grabs onto the couch cushions as hard as she can but that doesn’t stop the strangled cry that rips through her throat the moment the rubbing alcohol makes contact with her wounds. “Mother _fucker_!”

It gets a bit easier to stomach after a few seemingly endless moments, and then he’s dabbing disinfectant ointment into the wounds and wrapping gauze around her feet. He never takes his eyes off of his work, which is a bit unnerving, but she’s already bracing herself for the next foot and just doesn’t have time to worry about it yet.

They repeat the process over again and this time Amy actually cries when he pours the alcohol over her wounds. He has to pull a piece of glass out this time, and he carefully sets it to the side on the towel beneath the water bowl until he’s done bandaging her other foot.

“I’m gonna clean up. Stay right here.”

She nods and watches him tidy up, replacing every medical supply, dropping the dirty towels and washcloths into the hamper, and rinsing out her big metal bowl, and suddenly she’s struck by just how comfortable he seems in her place. He doesn’t have to check every cabinet to find her coffee mugs or fumble with the coffee machine, because he’s done this so many times already that he knows where everything is and how everything works.

While her coffee machine whirs to life, Jake walks toward her bedroom. “I’m gonna get you a change of clothes and something to put your hair up with. Do you want anything in particular?”

She shakes her head no and he disappears, just to return five minutes later with her softest academy shirt, her warmest sweatpants, her favorite sports bra, fuzzy socks, a black scrunchie, and comfortable underwear. The faintest hint of a blush colors his cheeks.

“I’ll be in the kitchen and I promise I won’t look.” He says as he drops the clothes on the couch next to her.

She waits until he’s got his back turned toward her before unwrapping herself from her afghan and stripping her shirt off. The scars from her bullet wounds are fully healed, but they still look angry and pink on her otherwise smooth skin. She studies them while she slips the bra over her head, and forces herself to look away when she drops her academy shirt down. Standing is a little difficult with her feet bandaged as thickly as they are, but she manages to balance herself on the arm of the couch with one hand while she changes the rest of her clothes.

“You almost done?” Jake calls.

“Just finished,”

He carries two nearly-full mugs of coffee into the living room and puts them on the coffee table, careful to land each on a coaster, before stooping and gathering her wet clothes and her afghan, which he drops into her hamper. Amy ties her hair up in a messy bun as Jake sits down beside her and offers her one of the mugs.

She takes it from him and drinks deeply, ignoring the burning sensation across her tongue and the roof of her mouth and focusing on the way the liquid fire warms her instantly down to her core. She lifts her legs and turns until she’s leaning back against the arm of the couch and her dimly aching feet are pressed into the couch cushion between the two of them.

“I’m still mad at you,” Jake says quietly. Amy lowers her mug slowly, and they look at each other across the distance of the couch. “You scared the _shit_ out of me this morning.”

She nods slowly. “I panicked.” He blinks a few times and clenches his jaw and she half expects him to start saying ‘cool’ repeatedly. “You can ask me why,” she offers.

“Why did you panic?”

“I was having a nightmare, and the thunder woke me up. I thought it was gunfire and I freaked out and ran.” He stares at the corner of the coffee table and takes a long, slow sip from his mug, absorbing the information.

“What was your nightmare?”

“While I was undercover, I watched the bosses murder someone in the organization that I was personally close to, and in my nightmare, instead of that person, I saw them murder you.” His gaze flickers to her. “They shot him twice in the head. They shot _you_ twice in the head. And with the thunder...it felt too real. I just reacted without thinking.”

“Why’d you go to the docks?”

“That’s where we used to do our pickups with dealers. Distributors would stand at the end of a dock with the merchandise wrapped in bags at the end of fishing poles, and it would look like we were fishing. We’d wait until the dealer showed up and if they had the money, we’d switch. I used to use the third dock when I was doing business with my dealers.” She takes another drink, desperately trying to hide the tremble in her hands. “The guy I watched them murder...his name was Frankie. He’s the one who called in the anonymous tip about the autoparts place. He used to come with me to the docks all the time. He was like a brother to me. He’s the only one who would take care of me after Archie would beat me up, and in turn I kind of took him under my wing. He was trying to get out, though, which is why he called us in. He didn’t know his phone was bugged. When we got back to base after hitting that warehouse, they dragged him out of the van and shot him twice in the head. He’s in a duffle bag with a few cement bricks somewhere below that dock right now, and I just...needed to talk to him.”

Jake’s Adam’s Apple bobs as the muscles in his throat contract.

“Lately I’ve been...dealing with...feeling guilty about what happened to him. And I’ve been internalizing and trying to deal with it by myself, but it’s too much. I can’t do it alone. Because I’ve seen every single person I love - my family and the nine-nine and now _you_ \- in that duffle bag, and it’s not getting any better.”

He hooks his arm around her ankles and pulls until her legs are straight and her feet are resting against his thigh. He keeps his right hand on the back of her right foot, stroking the pad of his thumb along the very base of her toes.

“I’m sorry I ran out without saying something. I just…” she trails as tendrils of steam rise off the surface of her coffee. “I’m scared that...one day...I’ll say something or do something...and you...you’ll...leave.”

“Impossible,” he says softly.

“I did so many terrible things, Jake,” she mumbles.

“You also did something so amazing and brave, and I’m so proud of you for that.”

“But what if it’s not enough? What if all the horrible things I did outweigh the good thing and you can’t look at me anymore?”

“Hey,” he squeezes her foot gently. “That isn’t gonna happen. I don’t love you because of the brave things you’ve done, I love you because...because you’re _Amy_.” He pats her foot a few times, looking slightly uncomfortable, but he presses on. “My Amy.”

Her head tilts to the side. “Your Amy?” She says softly, and a warm, tentative smile spreads across his face.

“My Amy. You’re my Amy and it doesn’t matter how terrible the things you had to do are because it isn’t gonna change the fact that I have loved you since the minute you walked through the doors of the ninety-ninth precinct.” Love for the man sitting next to her makes her heart feel so full it’s going to burst, she’s sure of it. “I’ve loved you since the moment I met you and nothing is ever gonna change that. I meant what I said the day you came home. I want to take care of you, and part of that is trying to help you work through everything.”

“You hate talking about feelings,” she says uncertainly.

“You’re right, but I’ll talk about feelings all day every day for the rest of my _life_ if it means helping you get better. Hell, I’ll actually _enjoy it_ if it means helping you.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Amy asks, shaking her head in wonder.

Jake shrugs. “You fell for my devilishly handsome good looks and stuck around for my incredible wit. This whole ‘being a really great guy’ thing is just an added bonus.”

She snorts and kicks her foot up at his hand. “Thank you,” she says once his hand lands against her ankle.

“Next time you have that nightmare, wake me up.”

“I will.”

“Promise me.”

“I’ll wake you up, I promise.” He nods, apparently satisfied, and they lapse into a comfortable quiet. “Hey...are you still mad at me?”

“Well that depends.” He says cheekily. “Why do you want to know?”

“I was just thinking that you could move in with me. Or we could move in together somewhere else. Basically I just want to live with you officially since you’re over here almost every night anyways, except I’d rather not move into your place. No offense but it’s kind of small and it still smells like the inside of Gina’s purse.”

“Wait, really?” She nods, and his whole face lights up with excitement. “You really want to move in with me? Or, me to move in with you, or...you want to live with me?”

“Yeah,” she laughs as he scrambles closer, until she’s basically sitting in his lap and he’s kissing her wildly all over the side of her face.

“This isn’t too fast?” He asks breathlessly when he pulls away.

Five years she’s looked at this face, seen his highs and lows, watched him solve cases and not solve cases, fallen in love over and over again with him starting from the first case they ever worked together six months into her time with the nine-nine. Four-and-a-half years, she’s been in love with this man, damn the four-months-official relationship.

“No,” she says, and the blinding grin she sees before his teeth crash into hers tells her that he wholeheartedly agrees.


End file.
